AUGUST TO JANUARY THE FULL MOONS MULANS ENCOUNTER chapter 1
by Powermimicry
Summary: Mulan has left her warrior days behind her. She encounters a stranger one evening.
1. Chapter 1

AUGUST TO JANUARY THE FULL MOONS. MULAN'S ENCOUNTER

Our first encounter occurred on a late August evening. Nights were getting darker again, but the fullness of the Sturgeon moon shone brightly.

I had just locked up the hall where I teach self defence to women. I need to put my training to good use, but secretly I long for the classes to finish so as I can practise with my double edged jian which is concealed in my guitar case. Those wars are behind me.

I was checking my messages as I walked, as I always did, deleting spam, texting a few friends and we just bumped gently into each other. A firm hand on my upper arm to steady me, an earthy fragrance, that, and I don't know why, sent a hint of a thrill through me.

My first instinct was to apologise profusely. But then I looked into those startling eyes and was speechless. Her laugh was low pitched almost husky. I couldn't help but laugh with her.

Clumsily I tried to talk but instead presented a daft smile, said a quick bye and carried on.

Yet I felt those eyes on my back. Slowly it all faded away but like Carrolls Cheshire Cat instead of the grin, the eyes remain. Why those eyes?

September, and surprisingly warm, a full beautiful Harvest moon lit up the sky.

The town looked back at me almost serenely bathed in the orange street lights. On my mobile as usual, but movement in my peripheral vision drew attention. There she was leaning against a cafe door, unbelievably stunning, twirling a strand of red hair carelessly around her finger. I stopped and grinned, (the daft smile).

She smiled back and walked towards me, a part of me panicked. This is an emotion I had once trained to master. She had been waiting for me. When are words not words but almost a thought.

We sat at a bus stop, at one point she took my hand and I felt I could never let go again or I would die. I wanted that hand to touch me, to stroke my skin. To fall asleep with it against my breast.

We exchanged conversation, or was that just me chatting nervously, because I cannot recall anything about her, except those eyes that seemed to have embraced my deepest thoughts.

Eventually she saw me onto a bus with a slight insistence. I had let several go by. I was willing to let them all go to hell. She waved goodbye. Why did that have to hurt so much.

It was not until October that I saw her again. These nights are so much colder, and the rain was heavy, my coat drenched. I had missed the bus and decided to walk, the Blood moon hidden behind a blanket of grey.

Someone ran up behind me, but I wasn't scared. Instincts perceive familiarity.

She was dry. It was as if the clouds dare not rain on her irradiance. She slipped her arm easily into mine and walked into step with me. Her smile was warmth, her eyes full of life.

She walked me to my door and leaned in to me, oh heaven the thrill is stronger than ever, gently biting my bottom lip, looked at me with that disarming smile, bit my lip again before kissing me, her tongue seeking mine, her mouth hard on mine, deep and sensuous.

She tasted of desire and need. I had never been kissed so passionately, I had never known you could feel sensations in your every fibre from just one kiss.

Then she was gone. Just gone. I stood in the rain for I don't know how long. Confused.

Sleep evaded me for weeks. Even my training could not satisfy these restless moods. My mind entered into countless fantasies and dialogues. I knew nothing of her. Not even a name to cry out. I walked most nights daring not to hope and yet my lips were on fire, yearning for her mouth on mine, for those golden eyes. October and her Frost moon, the pavement crunched under my feet. Car screens glistened with ice. As I approached my door I saw her sitting on the step. My heart quickened. She stood up and her arms reached out to me, I ran into them and felt her hot breath on my neck. Skin against teeth.

I fumbled for my keys and as she kissed me, we fell into my flat, clothes roughly torn off, our nakedness fuelling passions I had never before experienced. She tied back her red hair and her mouth eagerly tasted every part of me, my body moaned for her love bites. She smiled that smile at me before kissing up my inner thigh, her tongue slid into me, I had never been so wet, felt so on fire. Morning found me alone. I hadn't a name.

My one night stand. Not something I had entertained before. Too many questions in my orbit.

Why am I drawn to her, why am I obsessed with her. I do not look for her now, I hurry home and wait, frequently checking the front steps. My Jian grows dull. I wonder if that was all she wanted, and felt a jealousy lodge itself in my stomach at the thought of her kissing another. An anger mixed with want. December finds me standing in the dark at the window, a full Cold moon mocking. My heart races every time someone passes by.

Then a shadow beckons. I rush to the door and she grabs me and carries me to the bed. I make half hearted attempts to ask questions but her lips smother mine. My hands pull at her hair, my body gives me away as it arches into her hunger. Her mouth on my nipples her fingers play between my legs, I can't breath as I explode and just as I take a long breath, she smiles that smile and her face is between my legs and her tongue circles as I cry out into the night.

Sleep takes over too quickly. I want to taste her so badly. I didn't hear the door.

It's a bitter January. I am in the company of depression. In love with a woman I know nothing about. She left me with scratches down my back that I pray will not heal nor disappear for it's all I have of her.

I am on auto, I refuse to see friends and have cancelled the evening classes. I moved my chair over to the window and sit mostly in the dark. Food has become a problem, urges that make me feel both sick yet excited at the same time. I have a strange hunger that scares me.

I am not myself. I feel trapped. I dream that I am running wild and naked through forests, the smells are sharp and intoxicating.

Tonight my body is full of undisciplined pain, I passed out several times. In this darkness I know I am changing. The explosions of light before my eyes sends me out into the street, crying out for help. Someone lifts me up and I feel the wind through my hair as we move, and even with the agony I am aware of the safety and strength that supports me, of the the speed in which we move.

I open my eyes. We are on a grass knoll surrounded by trees. The air smells of temptation.

Before me stands the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, my golden eyes reflected in hers.

Now I know. A name is of no importance. We have eternally bonded,

And hunt together under the glow of a full Wolf moon.


	2. Chapter 2

AUGUST TO JANUARY THE FULL MOONS. RED THE WEREWOLF.

Lets be perfectly clear.

Werewolves cannot transform when they feel like it. Only at a full moon. Movies mostly give them a bad name. Transforming into a wolf 3 times the mass of its human body weight is impossible. Human fat actually turns to pure muscle. Transforming needs feeding, a lot. An awful lot. They are not driven to kill everyone whom they encounter. They don't lose all control of their minds, and yes, they remember everything.

Yet beyond the simple lies the complicated.

Born a werewolf, She remembered looking forward to puberty. The excitement was unbearable. Being jealous of the hunters as they grouped. Watching the Scouts heading out first whilst the pack impatiently pawed at the earth, their fast breath almost smoke in the chill of the night. At the age of 15 She found she could partially shift, got a bit furry with fangs and once ripped apart a sofa in a tantrum. The Luna came across her, hackles up, and oh hell did she growl. This behaviour is not acceptable. She showed her belly to the Luna, but secretly had no regrets.

At 16 a full beautiful transformation. Now Omega, and Just like teenaged humans dealing with hormone changes. Except it's more intensified. The extreme hunger, the aggression and always, always the attitude. She resented the Betas and Deltas as they enjoyed their unofficial position of teasing and batting the teenagers to keep them disciplined.

Not quite an idyllic setting though.

Werewolves are not cuddly open minded magical creatures. Most packs are infected by internal homophobia. The pack mentality effectively indoctrinates an individual into pack beliefs, the common ground being, ensuring group survival. The family unit. Reproduction. The human part, the mostly dominant influence, reinforces harsh judgemental positions. Traditions die hard. They remain mostly unexamined. You need the pack.

The illusions of growing up.

Alphas, amongst their other duties, love to match make. So when he invited in a macho, albeit dense wolf, from a neighbouring pack just for her, she embarrassed Anita by hissing like a cat.

Question? Can werewolves have pets? Yes being human most of the time, but birds are not recommended.

The coming of age that she so dearly embraced bought with it unwanted attention.

In human form he followed her everywhere. In human form she followed the females everywhere. Eventually one of the Scouts, with whom the Luna had a private arrangement reported a serious incident, She had gone and kissed a human girl, and all hell let loose.

The consequences of true feelings.

Werewolves do not take you to the side for a little warm heart to heart chat. Grand meetings are called and you are verbally humiliated and growled at in front of the whole pack. Everyone is given a say, oh isn't being judgemental a power kick, but the Alpha Gives a final ultimatum.

You tell yourself you need them. Banishment was not a choice she could imagine. Reluctantly she dated the human boy. Reluctantly she let the werewolf boy hunt alongside her. Nothing more. Then one night they were separated from the hunt with his manipulation, his patience had broken and the wolf tried to forcibly mate.

She left him in a carpet of moss with his throat torn out.

Her respite was short lived.

The rumours circulated. Scouts reported back. He had been missed. The body recovered. They dragged her screaming from her bed into the circle. Accusation after accusation. Since when has the crime of loving women become more shocking than taking the life of another werewolf?

Since this was a first for the pack. (Doubts hang on that.)

Banishment is not merely packing your bags and being shown the door. It is physical pain, it is mental torture. It is being thrust out with nothing.

First her parents. Anita limply slapped her around the face, and walked from the circle. This is total renunciation. Her father in contrast almost took her head off, his anger, his disgust, his shame, the first show of blood.

One by one the pack walked up to her and slapped her face and left the circle. By the time It came to Luna, her face felt numb. Luna looked at her with disgust. The Alpha knocked her to the floor. She was on her own. A rogue.

So she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

AUGUST TO JArNUARY THE FULL MOONS. MULAN'S TEENS.

"Dear Diary..."

I was 16 when my mother gave me that diary. I opened it and stared at those two pre printed words. I think it was to encourage teenaged angst. Personally it put me off.

There is nothing 'Dear' about pouring out why you hate your parents cos they don't understand you and the boy that touched you without permission and made you feel dirty and your first joint in the girls toilets to escape the school bullies and how you puked your drunk guts up all over your friends plush carpet and when you stole an expensive silk scarf from the mall and got a tattoo just above your ass with some obscure sign that you thought was cool and in fact was shit and stuck your fingers down your throat every night cos you felt fat and ugly and hated everything about the town you were born in and all the people in it.

To say I didn't fit in, is an understatement. This is not the teenager talking. I was ready to accept my life but always felt there was something missing, just out of my reach. I can't give it a name.

Marriage and children were not for me, I was gay before I even knew the word. I would be a soldier.

A few relationships here and there but still hollow inside. I had come to the conclusion that I was incapable of love, whatever that entailed. I cared I felt I laughed I cried. Was that enough? Watching my parents I wondered if that was why. They slotted into the caring couple routine, a few dinner parties with that shrill laugh at jokes that were not jokes, but subtle put downs. The cheerful waving at neighbours with a glued smile. A kiss on the cheek 'have a nice day at work dear' They remained polite to each other but lacked any warmth.

My father, a veteran of dark days, started to work late. A distance grew between them and many nights he came home and would fall asleep on the sofa with a beercan in his hand. Did he drink to numb the memories or erase the present? My mother never said a word and hummed softly to her self whilst picking up his laundry, and restocking the fridge with ready meals and his favourite brand.

One night, he didn't come home.

We never discussed it. I was worried. With the absence of my father, what little I had left of family were drifting. Occasionally we all got together and made the right noises and went our separate ways. My grandmother struggled with her health but remained as supportive as she could. I was closer to her than anyone, but the realisation only hit me in maturity.

My mother got a job in a roadside cafe. She had no qualifications on paper but that woman knew how to feed people with a smile and keep the chat going. For a while I thought we were going to be okay. She bought leftovers home at 2 in the morning which we would eat together and tell me funny stories about her customers and we would laugh and nearly choke on our cold fries.

That stopped. At 17 I was introduced to her new 'acquaintance'. He smelt of whisky and sweat. That smell soaked itself into the house. I would lay awake at night with the stench of his odour in my nostrils while my ears were subjected to the unsavoury noises coming from my mother's bedroom.

My parents had never raised their voices so the first time he screamed in my face, his spittle on my cheeks, scared me so much my bladder let loose. Then screamed at me again for being disgusting. He revelled in his power. I swore one day to take this power away from the likes of him. I looked to my mother to defend me and was met with a wall of silence. She pandered to his drunken moods. I approached her more times than I can remember with tears upon my cheeks, but each time she defended him and blamed me. She always blamed me.

One night, I didn't come home.


End file.
